The rain falls in torrents, flooding the streets, but she doesn't care.
She sits on the curb, a bag of bacon at her side and she watches, face turned upwards towards the sky with a grin.
"What? Can't do better?"
She laughs as a blast of lightening lights up the sky and the loud crack of thunder following it makes her laugh harder.
"Sam!"
She ignores him, her clothes and hair are soaked but she doesn't care.
When it rains she sheds all of the anger and love that's built up inside of her, and when the rain is gone, she's clean, new, free to love and hate again.
He gives an exasperated sigh. He could never understand her.
He sits sullenly next to her, silently groaning at the thought of what his mom would say when he got home.
"Rain, it's pretty cool, isn't it?"
He turns towards her, and he's unnerved by her steady gaze.
"Yeah…yeah, I guess."
He hates rain.
They sit in silence for a while.
"How about we go to Carly's, and watch the rain from the window?"
"You can go, I'll just stay here."
"I have ham."
"Yeah, health ham, that's just tofu in disguise."
"So?"
"Get outta here."
He ignores her command and stays. She gives up on glaring at him to scare him home, and returns to watching the sky.
He's not interested in the sky, so he watches her instead.
She's beautiful when it rains.
It's like the rain encompasses her essence. She's Sam and he thinks that it's the most beautiful thing he's seen.
He's surprised at his feelings, these emotions that had risen to the surface, bubbling over, he isn't a deep guy. It's weird how emotions and moments in time can surprise you (just like their kiss).
She turns to him and brown eyes meet blue and he's caught up in the moment.
So, he kisses her.
In the rain.
Its tension, years worth, slowly accumulating until the kiss, after which it grew at a rapid rate, that's being released.
It's long and hard and cliché, as you would expect kissing in the rain to be.
"Nice work Benson."
"You too Puckett…"
The rain is letting up and she gets up, waterlogged. He holds out his hand, signaling that she should help him up. She does, and his arm is almost ripped out of his body.
"Thanks Sam."
He spits it out.
She snorts, "No problem Fred-o."
They head in opposite directions.
He remembers something, and calls back to her, grinning, "Hey, Sam, I still hate you."
She turns around; now walking backward, smirking, "Hate you too."
"We should do this again sometime."
"Call me when it rains."
He walks home on a high, exhilarated.
His mom's yelling and questioning can't wipe the smile off his face.
At night, he dreams of rain and blonde hair and sarcasm.
The smile stays until morning.